Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fairhighway, through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshinewere blessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a freshcharm and a new loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes.

On that road we heard the song of morning stars; we drank infragrances aerial and sweet as a May mist; we were rich ingossamer fancies and iris hopes; our hearts sought and found theboon of dreams; the years waited beyond and they were very fair;life was a rose-lipped comrade with purple flowers dripping fromher fingers.

We may long have left the golden road behind, but its memories arethe dearest of our eternal possessions; and those who cherish themas such may haply find a pleasure in the pages of this book, whosepeople are pilgrims on the golden road of youth.

THE GOLDEN ROAD

CHAPTER I

A NEW DEPARTURE

"I've thought of something amusing for the winter," I said as wedrew into a half-circle around the glorious wood-fire in UncleAlec's kitchen.

It had been a day of wild November wind, closing down into a wet,eerie twilight. Outside, the wind was shrilling at the windowsand around the eaves, and the rain was playing on the roof. Theold willow at the gate was writhing in the storm and the orchardwas a place of weird music, born of all the tears and fears thathaunt the halls of night. But little we cared for the gloom andthe loneliness of the outside world; we kept them at bay with thelight of the fire and the laughter of our young lips.

We had been having a splendid game of Blind-Man's Buff. That is,it had been splendid at first; but later the fun went out of itbecause we found that Peter was, of malice prepense, allowinghimself to be caught too easily, in order that he might have thepleasure of catching Felicity--which he never failed to do, nomatter how tightly his eyes were bound. What remarkable goosesaid that love is blind? Love can see through five folds ofclosely-woven muffler with ease!

"I'm getting tired," said Cecily, whose breath was coming ratherquickly and whose pale cheeks had bloomed into scarlet. "Let'ssit down and get the Story Girl to tell us a story."

But as we dropped into our places the Story Girl shot asignificant glance at me which intimated that this was thepsychological moment for introducing the scheme she and I had beensecretly developing for some days. It was really the Story Girl'sidea and none of mine. But she had insisted that I should makethe suggestion as coming wholly from myself.

"If you don't, Felicity won't agree to it. You know yourself,Bev, how contrary she's been lately over anything I mention. Andif she goes against it Peter will too--the ninny!--and it wouldn'tbe any fun if we weren't all in it."

"It is this. Let us get up a newspaper of our own--write it allourselves, and have all we do in it. Don't you think we can get alot of fun out of it?"

Everyone looked rather blank and amazed, except the Story Girl. She knew what she had to do, and she did it.

"What a silly idea!" she exclaimed, with a contemptuous toss ofher long brown curls. "Just as if WE could get up a newspaper!"

Felicity fired up, exactly as we had hoped.

"I think it's a splendid idea," she said enthusiastically. "I'dlike to know why we couldn't get up as good a newspaper as theyhave in town! Uncle Roger says the Daily Enterprise has gone tothe dogs--all the news it prints is that some old woman has put ashawl on her head and gone across the road to have tea withanother old woman. I guess we could do better than that. Youneedn't think, Sara Stanley, that nobody but you can do anything."

"I think it would be great fun," said Peter decidedly. "My AuntJane helped edit a paper when she was at Queen's Academy, and shesaid it was very amusing and helped her a great deal."

The Story Girl could hide her delight only by dropping her eyesand frowning.

"Bev wants to be editor," she said, "and I don't see how he can,with no experience. Anyhow, it would be a lot of trouble."

"Some people are so afraid of a little bother," retorted Felicity.

"I think it would be nice," said Cecily timidly, "and none of ushave any experience of being editors, any more than Bev, so thatwouldn't matter."

"Will it be printed?" asked Dan.

"Oh, no," I said. "We can't have it printed. We'll just have towrite it out--we can buy foolscap from the teacher."

"I don't think it will be much of a newspaper if it isn'tprinted," said Dan scornfully.

"It doesn't matter very much what YOU think," said Felicity.

"Thank you," retorted Dan.

"Of course," said the Story Girl hastily, not wishing to have Danturned against our project, "if all the rest of you want it I'llgo in for it too. I daresay it would be real good fun, now that Icome to think of it. And we'll keep the copies, and when webecome famous they'll be quite valuable."

"I wonder if any of us ever will be famous," said Felix.

"The Story Girl will be," I said.

"I don't see how she can be," said Felicity skeptically. "Why,she's just one of us."

"Well, it's decided, then, that we're to have a newspaper," Iresumed briskly. "The next thing is to choose a name for it. That's a very important thing."

"How often are you going to publish it?" asked Felix.

"Once a month."

"I thought newspapers came out every day, or every week at least,"said Dan.

"We couldn't have one every week," I explained. "It would be toomuch work."

"Well, that's an argument," admitted Dan. "The less work you canget along with the better, in my opinion. No, Felicity, youneedn't say it. I know exactly what you want to say, so save yourbreath to cool your porridge. I agree with you that I never workif I can find anything else to do."

"'Remember it is harder still To have no work to do,"'

quoted Cecily reprovingly.

"I don't believe THAT," rejoined Dan. "I'm like the Irishman whosaid he wished the man who begun work had stayed and finished it."

"Well, is it decided that Bev is to be editor?" asked Felix.

"Of course it is," Felicity answered for everybody.

"Then," said Felix, "I move that the name be The King MonthlyMagazine."

"But," said Cecily timidly, "that will leave out Peter and theStory Girl and Sara Ray, just as if they didn't have a share init. I don't think that would be fair."

"You name it then, Cecily," I suggested.

"Oh!" Cecily threw a deprecating glance at the Story Girl andFelicity. Then, meeting the contempt in the latter's gaze, sheraised her head with unusual spirit.

"I think it would be nice just to call it Our Magazine," she said. "Then we'd all feel as if we had a share in it."

"Our Magazine it will be, then," I said. "And as for having ashare in it, you bet we'll all have a share in it. If I'm to beeditor you'll all have to be sub-editors, and have charge of adepartment."

"Oh, I couldn't," protested Cecily.

"You must," I said inexorably. "'England expects everyone to dohis duty.' That's our motto--only we'll put Prince Edward Islandin place of England. There must be no shirking. Now, whatdepartments will we have? We must make it as much like a realnewspaper as we can."

"Well, we ought to have an etiquette department, then," saidFelicity. "The Family Guide has one."

"Of course we'll have one," I said, "and Dan will edit it."

"Dan!" exclaimed Felicity, who had fondly expected to be asked toedit it herself.

"I can run an etiquette column as well as that idiot in the FamilyGuide, anyhow," said Dan defiantly. "But you can't have anetiquette department unless questions are asked. What am I to doif nobody asks any?"

"You must make some up," said the Story Girl. "Uncle Roger saysthat is what the Family Guide man does. He says it is impossiblethat there can be as many hopeless fools in the world as thatcolumn would stand for otherwise."

"We want you to edit the household department, Felicity," I said,seeing a cloud lowering on that fair lady's brow. "Nobody can dothat as well as you. Felix will edit the jokes and theInformation Bureau, and Cecily must be fashion editor. Yes, youmust, Sis. It's easy as wink. And the Story Girl will attend tothe personals. They're very important. Anyone can contribute apersonal, but the Story Girl is to see there are some in everyissue, even if she has to make them up, like Dan with theetiquette."

"Bev will run the scrap book department, besides the editorials,"said the Story Girl, seeing that I was too modest to say itmyself.

"Aren't you going to have a story page?" asked Peter.

"We will, if you'll be fiction and poetry editor," I said.

Peter, in his secret soul, was dismayed, but he would not blanchbefore Felicity.

"All right," he said, recklessly.

"We can put anything we like in the scrap book department," Iexplained, "but all the other contributions must be original, andall must have the name of the writer signed to them, except thepersonals. We must all do our best. Our Magazine is to be 'afeast of reason and flow of soul."'

I felt that I had worked in two quotations with striking effect. The others, with the exception of the Story Girl, looked suitablyimpressed.

"But," said Cecily, reproachfully, "haven't you anything for SaraRay to do? She'll feel awful bad if she is left out."

I had forgotten Sara Ray. Nobody, except Cecily, ever didremember Sara Ray unless she was on the spot. But we decided toput her in as advertising manager. That sounded well and reallymeant very little.

"Well, we'll go ahead then," I said, with a sigh of relief thatthe project had been so easily launched. "We'll get the firstissue out about the first of January. And whatever else we do wemustn't let Uncle Roger get hold of it. He'd make such fearfulfun of it."

"I hope we can make a success of it," said Peter moodily. He hadbeen moody ever since he was entrapped into being fiction editor.

"It will be a success if we are determined to succeed," I said. "'Where there is a will there is always a way.'"

"That's just what Ursula Townley said when her father locked herin her room the night she was going to run away with KennethMacNair," said the Story Girl.

We pricked up our ears, scenting a story.

"Who were Ursula Townley and Kenneth MacNair?" I asked.

"Kenneth MacNair was a first cousin of the Awkward Man'sgrandfather, and Ursula Townley was the belle of the Island in herday. Who do you suppose told me the story--no, read it to me, outof his brown book?"

"Never the Awkward Man himself!" I exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes, he did," said the Story Girl triumphantly. "I met him oneday last week back in the maple woods when I was looking forferns. He was sitting by the spring, writing in his brown book. He hid it when he saw me and looked real silly; but after I hadtalked to him awhile I just asked him about it, and told him thatthe gossips said he wrote poetry in it, and if he did would hetell me, because I was dying to know. He said he wrote a littleof everything in it; and then I begged him to read me somethingout of it, and he read me the story of Ursula and Kenneth."

"I don't see how you ever had the face," said Felicity; and evenCecily looked as if she thought the Story Girl had gone ratherfar.

"I'll tell it just as the Awkward Man read it, as far as I can,"said the Story Girl, "but I can't put all his nice poeticaltouches in, because I can't remember them all, though he read itover twice for me."

CHAPTER II

A WILL, A WAY AND A WOMAN

"One day, over a hundred years ago, Ursula Townley was waiting forKenneth MacNair in a great beechwood, where brown nuts werefalling and an October wind was making the leaves dance on theground like pixy-people."

"Hush," whispered Cecily. "That is only one of the Awkward Man'spoetical touches, I guess."

"There were cultivated fields between the grove and the dark bluegulf; but far behind and on each side were woods, for PrinceEdward Island a hundred years ago was not what it is today. Thesettlements were few and scattered, and the population so scantythat old Hugh Townley boasted that he knew every man, woman andchild in it.

"Old Hugh was quite a noted man in his day. He was noted forseveral things--he was rich, he was hospitable, he was proud, hewas masterful--and he had for daughter the handsomest young womanin Prince Edward Island.

"Of course, the young men were not blind to her good looks, andshe had so many lovers that all the other girls hated her--"

"You bet!" said Dan, aside--

"But the only one who found favour in her eyes was the very lastman she should have pitched her fancy on, at least if old Hughwere the judge. Kenneth MacNair was a dark-eyed young sea-captainof the next settlement, and it was to meet him that Ursula stoleto the beechwood on that autumn day of crisp wind and ripesunshine. Old Hugh had forbidden his house to the young man,making such a scene of fury about it that even Ursula's highspirit quailed. Old Hugh had really nothing against Kennethhimself; but years before either Kenneth or Ursula was born,Kenneth's father had beaten Hugh Townley in a hotly contestedelection. Political feeling ran high in those days, and old Hughhad never forgiven the MacNair his victory. The feud between thefamilies dated from that tempest in the provincial teapot, and thesurplus of votes on the wrong side was the reason why, thirtyyears after, Ursula had to meet her lover by stealth if she methim at all."

"Was the MacNair a Conservative or a Grit?" asked Felicity.

"It doesn't make any difference what he was," said the Story Girlimpatiently. "Even a Tory would be romantic a hundred years ago. Well, Ursula couldn't see Kenneth very often, for Kenneth livedfifteen miles away and was often absent from home in his vessel. On this particular day it was nearly three months since they hadmet.

"The Sunday before, young Sandy MacNair had been in Carlylechurch. He had risen at dawn that morning, walked bare-footed foreight miles along the shore, carrying his shoes, hired a harbourfisherman to row him over the channel, and then walked eight milesmore to the church at Carlyle, less, it is to be feared, from azeal for holy things than that he might do an errand for hisadored brother, Kenneth. He carried a letter which he contrivedto pass into Ursula's hand in the crowd as the people came out. This letter asked Ursula to meet Kenneth in the beechwood the nextafternoon, and so she stole away there when suspicious father andwatchful stepmother thought she was spinning in the granary loft."

"It was very wrong of her to deceive her parents," said Felicityprimly.

The Story Girl couldn't deny this, so she evaded the ethical sideof the question skilfully.

"I am not telling you what Ursula Townley ought to have done," shesaid loftily. "I am only telling you what she DID do. If youdon't want to hear it you needn't listen, of course. Therewouldn't be many stories to tell if nobody ever did anything sheshouldn't do.

"Well, when Kenneth came, the meeting was just what might havebeen expected between two lovers who had taken their last kissthree months before. So it was a good half-hour before Ursulasaid,

"'Oh, Kenneth, I cannot stay long--I shall be missed. You said inyour letter that you had something important to talk of. What isit?'

"'My news is this, Ursula. Next Saturday morning my vessel, TheFair Lady, with her captain on board, sails at dawn fromCharlottetown harbour, bound for Buenos Ayres. At this seasonthis means a safe and sure return--next May.'

"'Kenneth!' cried Ursula. She turned pale and burst into tears. 'How can you think of leaving me? Oh, you are cruel!'

"'Why, no, sweetheart,' laughed Kenneth. 'The captain of The FairLady will take his bride with him. We'll spend our honeymoon onthe high seas, Ursula, and the cold Canadian winter under southernpalms.'

"'You want me to run away with you, Kenneth?' exclaimed Ursula.

"'Indeed, dear girl, there's nothing else to do!'

"'Oh, I cannot!' she protested. 'My father would--'

"'We'll not consult him--until afterward. Come, Ursula, you knowthere's no other way. We've always known it must come to this.YOUR father will never forgive me for MY father. You won't failme now. Think of the long parting if you send me away alone onsuch a voyage. Pluck up your courage, and we'll let Townleys andMacNairs whistle their mouldy feuds down the wind while we sailsouthward in The Fair Lady. I have a plan.'

"'Let me hear it,' said Ursula, beginning to get back her breath.

"'There is to be a dance at The Springs Friday night. Are youinvited, Ursula?'

"'Yes.'

"'Good. I am not--but I shall be there--in the fir grove behindthe house, with two horses. When the dancing is at its heightyou'll steal out to meet me. Then 'tis but a fifteen mile ride toCharlottetown, where a good minister, who is a friend of mine,will be ready to marry us. By the time the dancers have tiredtheir heels you and I will be on our vessel, able to snap ourfingers at fate.'

"'And what if I do not meet you in the fir grove?' said Ursula, alittle impertinently.

"'If you do not, I'll sail for South America the next morning, andmany a long year will pass ere Kenneth MacNair comes home again.'

"Perhaps Kenneth didn't mean that, but Ursula thought he did, andit decided her. She agreed to run away with him. Yes, of coursethat was wrong, too, Felicity. She ought to have said, 'No, Ishall be married respectably from home, and have a wedding and asilk dress and bridesmaids and lots of presents.' But she didn't. She wasn't as prudent as Felicity King would have been."

"She was a shameless hussy," said Felicity, venting on the long-dead Ursula that anger she dare not visit on the Story Girl.

"Oh, no, Felicity dear, she was just a lass of spirit. I'd havedone the same. And when Friday night came she began to dress forthe dance with a brave heart. She was to go to The Springs withher uncle and aunt, who were coming on horseback that afternoon,and would then go on to The Springs in old Hugh's carriage, whichwas the only one in Carlyle then. They were to leave in time toreach The Springs before nightfall, for the October nights weredark and the wooded roads rough for travelling.

"When Ursula was ready she looked at herself in the glass with agood deal of satisfaction. Yes, Felicity, she was a vain baggage,that same Ursula, but that kind didn't all die out a hundred yearsago. And she had good reason for being vain. She wore the sea-green silk which had been brought out from England a year beforeand worn but once--at the Christmas ball at Government House. Afine, stiff, rustling silk it was, and over it shone Ursula'scrimson cheeks and gleaming eyes, and masses of nut brown hair.

"As she turned from the glass she heard her father's voice below,loud and angry. Growing very pale, she ran out into the hall. Her father was already half way upstairs, his face red with fury. In the hall below Ursula saw her step-mother, looking troubled andvexed. At the door stood Malcolm Ramsay, a homely neighbour youthwho had been courting Ursula in his clumsy way ever since she grewup. Ursula had always hated him.

"'Ursula!' shouted old Hugh, 'come here and tell this scoundrel helies. He says that you met Kenneth MacNair in the beechgrove lastTuesday. Tell him he lies! Tell him he lies!'

"Ursula was no coward. She looked scornfully at poor Ramsay.

"'The creature is a spy and a tale-bearer,' she said, 'but in thishe does not lie. I DID meet Kenneth MacNair last Tuesday.'

"'And you dare to tell me this to my face!' roared old Hugh. 'Back to your room, girl! Back to your room and stay there! Takeoff that finery. You go to no more dances. You shall stay inthat room until I choose to let you out. No, not a word! I'll putyou there if you don't go. In with you--ay, and take yourknitting with you. Occupy yourself with that this evening insteadof kicking your heels at The Springs!'

"He snatched a roll of gray stocking from the hall table and flungit into Ursula's room. Ursula knew she would have to follow it,or be picked up and carried in like a naughty child. So she gavethe miserable Ramsay a look that made him cringe, and swept intoher room with her head in the air. The next moment she heard thedoor locked behind her. Her first proceeding was to have a cry ofanger and shame and disappointment. That did no good, and thenshe took to marching up and down her room. It did not calm her tohear the rumble of the carriage out of the gate as her uncle andaunt departed.

"'Oh, what's to be done?' she sobbed. 'Kenneth will be furious. He will think I have failed him and he will go away hot with angeragainst me. If I could only send a word of explanation I know hewould not leave me. But there seems to be no way at all--though Ihave heard that there's always a way when there's a will. Oh, Ishall go mad! If the window were not so high I would jump out ofit. But to break my legs or my neck would not mend the matter.'

"The afternoon passed on. At sunset Ursula heard hoof-beats andran to the window. Andrew Kinnear of The Springs was tying hishorse at the door. He was a dashing young fellow, and a politicalcrony of old Hugh. No doubt he would be at the dance that night. Oh, if she could get speech for but a moment with him!

"When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently fromthe window, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespunyarn her father had flung on the floor. For a moment she gazed atit resentfully--then, with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it. The next moment she was at her table, writing a brief note toKenneth MacNair. When it was written, Ursula unwound the grayball to a considerable depth, pinned the note on it, and rewoundthe yarn over it. A gray ball, the color of the twilight, mightescape observation, where a white missive fluttering down from anupper window would surely be seen by someone. Then she softlyopened her window and waited.

"It was dusk when Andrew went away. Fortunately old Hugh did notcome to the door with him. As Andrew untied his horse Ursulathrew the ball with such good aim that it struck him, as she hadmeant it to do, squarely on the head. Andrew looked up at herwindow. She leaned out, put her finger warningly on her lips,pointed to the ball, and nodded. Andrew, looking somewhatpuzzled, picked up the ball, sprang to his saddle, and gallopedoff.

"So far, well, thought Ursula. But would Andrew understand? Wouldhe have wit enough to think of exploring the big, knobby ball forits delicate secret? And would he be at the dance after all?

"The evening dragged by. Time had never seemed so long to Ursula. She could not rest or sleep. It was midnight before she heard thepatter of a handful of gravel on her window-panes. In a trice shewas leaning out. Below in the darkness stood Kenneth MacNair.

"'Oh, Kenneth, did you get my letter? And is it safe for you to behere?'

"'Safe enough. Your father is in bed. I've waited two hours downthe road for his light to go out, and an extra half-hour to puthim to sleep. The horses are there. Slip down and out, Ursula. We'll make Charlottetown by dawn yet.'

"'That's easier said than done, lad. I'm locked in. But do yougo out behind the new barn and bring the ladder you will findthere.'

"Five minutes later, Miss Ursula, hooded and cloaked, scrambledsoundlessly down the ladder, and in five more minutes she andKenneth were riding along the road.

"'There's a stiff gallop before us, Ursula,' said Kenneth.

"'I would ride to the world's end with you, Kenneth MacNair,' saidUrsula. Oh, of course she shouldn't have said anything of thesort, Felicity. But you see people had no etiquette departmentsin those days. And when the red sunlight of a fair October dawnwas shining over the gray sea The Fair Lady sailed out ofCharlottetown harbour. On her deck stood Kenneth and UrsulaMacNair, and in her hand, as a most precious treasure, the bridecarried a ball of gray homespun yarn."

"Well," said Dan, yawning, "I like that kind of a story. Nobodygoes and dies in it, that's one good thing."

"Did old Hugh forgive Ursula?" I asked.

"The story stopped there in the brown book," said the Story Girl,"but the Awkward Man says he did, after awhile."

"It must be rather romantic to be run away with," remarked Cecily,wistfully.

"Don't you get such silly notions in your head, Cecily King," saidFelicity, severely.

CHAPTER III

THE CHRISTMAS HARP

Great was the excitement in the houses of King as Christmas drewnigh. The air was simply charged with secrets. Everybody wasvery penurious for weeks beforehand and hoards were countedscrutinizingly every day. Mysterious pieces of handiwork weresmuggled in and out of sight, and whispered consultations wereheld, about which nobody thought of being jealous, as might havehappened at any other time. Felicity was in her element, for sheand her mother were deep in preparations for the day. Cecily andthe Story Girl were excluded from these doings with indifferenceon Aunt Janet's part and what seemed ostentatious complacency onFelicity's. Cecily took this to heart and complained to me aboutit.

"I'm one of this family just as much as Felicity is," she said,with as much indignation as Cecily could feel, "and I don't thinkshe need shut me out of everything. When I wanted to stone theraisins for the mince-meat she said, no, she would do it herself,because Christmas mince-meat was very particular--as if I couldn'tstone raisins right! The airs Felicity puts on about her cookingjust make me sick," concluded Cecily wrathfully.

"It's a pity she doesn't make a mistake in cooking once in a whileherself," I said. "Then maybe she wouldn't think she knew so muchmore than other people."

All parcels that came in the mail from distant friends were takencharge of by Aunts Janet and Olivia, not to be opened until thegreat day of the feast itself. How slowly the last week passed!But even watched pots will boil in the fulness of time, andfinally Christmas day came, gray and dour and frost-bittenwithout, but full of revelry and rose-red mirth within. UncleRoger and Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl came over early for theday; and Peter came too, with his shining, morning face, to behailed with joy, for we had been afraid that Peter would not beable to spend Christmas with us. His mother had wanted him homewith her.

"Of course I ought to go," Peter had told me mournfully, "but wewon't have turkey for dinner, because ma can't afford it. And maalways cries on holidays because she says they make her think offather. Of course she can't help it, but it ain't cheerful. AuntJane wouldn't have cried. Aunt Jane used to say she never saw theman who was worth spoiling her eyes for. But I guess I'll have tospend Christmas at home."

At the last moment, however, a cousin of Mrs. Craig's inCharlottetown invited her for Christmas, and Peter, being givenhis choice of going or staying, joyfully elected to stay. So wewere all together, except Sara Ray, who had been invited but whosemother wouldn't let her come.

"Sara Ray's mother is a nuisance," snapped the Story Girl. "Shejust lives to make that poor child miserable, and she won't lether go to the party tonight, either."

"It is just breaking Sara's heart that she can't," said Cecilycompassionately. "I'm almost afraid I won't enjoy myself forthinking of her, home there alone, most likely reading the Bible,while we're at the party."

"But Mrs. Ray makes her read it as a punishment," protestedCecily. "Whenever Sara cries to go anywhere--and of course she'llcry tonight--Mrs. Ray makes her read seven chapters in the Bible. I wouldn't think that would make her very fond of it. And I'llnot be able to talk the party over with Sara afterwards--andthat's half the fun gone."

We had an exciting time opening our presents. Some of us had morethan others, but we all received enough to make us feelcomfortably that we were not unduly neglected in the matter. Thecontents of the box which the Story Girl's father had sent herfrom Paris made our eyes stick out. It was full of beautifulthings, among them another red silk dress--not the bright, flame-hued tint of her old one, but a rich, dark crimson, with the mostdistracting flounces and bows and ruffles; and with it were littlered satin slippers with gold buckles, and heels that made AuntJanet hold up her hands in horror. Felicity remarked scornfullythat she would have thought the Story Girl would get tired wearingred so much, and even Cecily commented apart to me that shethought when you got so many things all at once you didn'tappreciate them as much as when you only got a few.

"I'd never get tired of red," said the Story Girl. "I just loveit--it's so rich and glowing. When I'm dressed in red I alwaysfeel ever so much cleverer than in any other colour. Thoughtsjust crowd into my brain one after the other. Oh, you darlingdress--you dear, sheeny, red-rosy, glistening, silky thing!"

She flung it over her shoulder and danced around the kitchen.

"Don't be silly, Sara," said Aunt Janet, a little stimy. She wasa good soul, that Aunt Janet, and had a kind, loving heart in herample bosom. But I fancy there were times when she thought itrather hard that the daughter of a roving adventurer--as sheconsidered him--like Blair Stanley should disport herself in silkdresses, while her own daughters must go clad in gingham andmuslin--for those were the days when a feminine creature got onesilk dress in her lifetime, and seldom more than one.

The Story Girl also got a present from the Awkward Man--a little,shabby, worn volume with a great many marks on the leaves.

"Why, it isn't new--it's an old book!" exclaimed Felicity. "Ididn't think the Awkward Man was mean, whatever else he was."

"Oh, you don't understand, Felicity," said the Story Girlpatiently. "And I don't suppose I can make you understand. ButI'll try. I'd ten times rather have this than a new book. It'sone of his own, don't you see--one that he has read a hundredtimes and loved and made a friend of. A new book, just out of ashop, wouldn't be the same thing at all. It wouldn't MEANanything. I consider it a great compliment that he has given methis book. I'm prouder of it than of anything else I've got."

Peter was in the seventh heaven because Felicity had given him apresent--and, moreover, one that she had made herself. It was abookmark of perforated cardboard, with a gorgeous red and yellowworsted goblet worked on it, and below, in green letters, thesolemn warning, "Touch Not The Cup." As Peter was not addicted tohabits of intemperance, not even to looking on dandelion wine whenit was pale yellow, we did not exactly see why Felicity shouldhave selected such a device. But Peter was perfectly satisfied,so nobody cast any blight on his happiness by carping criticism. Later on Felicity told me she had worked the bookmark for himbecause his father used to drink before he ran away.

"I thought Peter ought to be warned in time," she said.

Even Pat had a ribbon of blue, which he clawed off and lost halfan hour after it was tied on him. Pat did not care for vainadornments of the body.

We had a glorious Christmas dinner, fit for the halls of Lucullus,and ate far more than was good for us, none daring to make usafraid on that one day of the year. And in the evening--oh,rapture and delight!--we went to Kitty Marr's party.

It was a fine December evening; the sharp air of morning hadmellowed until it was as mild as autumn. There had been no snow,and the long fields, sloping down from the homestead, were brownand mellow. A weird, dreamy stillness had fallen on the purpleearth, the dark fir woods, the valley rims, the sere meadows. Nature seemed to have folded satisfied hands to rest, knowing thather long wintry slumber was coming upon her.

At first, when the invitations to the party had come, Aunt Janethad said we could not go; but Uncle Alec interceded in our favour,perhaps influenced thereto by Cecily's wistful eyes. If UncleAlec had a favourite among his children it was Cecily, and he hadgrown even more indulgent towards her of late. Now and then I sawhim looking at her intently, and, following his eyes and thought,I had, somehow, seen that Cecily was paler and thinner than shehad been in the summer, and that her soft eyes seemed larger, andthat over her little face in moments of repose there was a certainlanguor and weariness that made it very sweet and pathetic. And Iheard him tell Aunt Janet that he did not like to see the childgetting so much the look of her Aunt Felicity.

But after that Cecily had cups of cream where the rest of us gotonly milk; and Aunt Janet was very particular to see that she hadher rubbers on whenever she went out.

On this merry Christmas evening, however, no fears or dimforeshadowings of any coming event clouded our hearts or faces. Cecily looked brighter and prettier than I had ever seen her, withher softly shining eyes and the nut brown gloss of her hair. Felicity was too beautiful for words; and even the Story Girl,between excitement and the crimson silk array, blossomed out witha charm and allurement more potent than any regular loveliness--and this in spite of the fact that Aunt Olivia had tabooed the redsatin slippers and mercilessly decreed that stout shoes should beworn.

"I know just how you feel about it, you daughter of Eve," shesaid, with gay sympathy, "but December roads are damp, and if youare going to walk to Marrs' you are not going to do it in thosefrivolous Parisian concoctions, even with overboots on; so bebrave, dear heart, and show that you have a soul above little redsatin shoes."

"Anyhow," said Uncle Roger, "that red silk dress will break thehearts of all the feminine small fry at the party. You'd breaktheir spirits, too, if you wore the slippers. Don't do it, Sara. Leave them one wee loophole of enjoyment."

"What does Uncle Roger mean?" whispered Felicity.

"He means you girls are all dying of jealousy because of the StoryGirl's dress," said Dan.

"I am not of a jealous disposition," said Felicity loftily, "andshe's entirely welcome to the dress--with a complexion like that."

But we enjoyed that party hugely, every one of us. And we enjoyedthe walk home afterwards, through dim, enshadowed fields wheresilvery star-beams lay, while Orion trod his stately march aboveus, and a red moon climbed up the black horizon's rim. A brookwent with us part of the way, singing to us through the dark--agay, irresponsible vagabond of valley and wilderness.

Felicity and Peter walked not with us. Peter's cup must surelyhave brimmed over that Christmas night. When we left the Marrhouse, he had boldly said to Felicity, "May I see you home?" AndFelicity, much to our amazement, had taken his arm and marched offwith him. The primness of her was indescribable, and was not atall ruffled by Dan's hoot of derision. As for me, I was consumedby a secret and burning desire to ask the Story Girl if I mightsee HER home; but I could not screw my courage to the stickingpoint. How I envied Peter his easy, insouciant manner! I couldnot emulate him, so Dan and Felix and Cecily and the Story Girland I all walked hand in hand, huddling a little closer togetheras we went through James Frewen's woods--for there are strangeharps in a fir grove, and who shall say what fingers sweep them?Mighty and sonorous was the music above our heads as the winds ofthe night stirred the great boughs tossing athwart the starlitsky. Perhaps it was that aeolian harmony which recalled to theStory Girl a legend of elder days.

"I read such a pretty story in one of Aunt Olivia's books lastnight," she said. "It was called 'The Christmas Harp.' Would youlike to hear it? It seems to me it would just suit this part ofthe road."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't tell a ghost story here for anything. I'dfrighten myself too much. This story is about one of theshepherds who saw the angels on the first Christmas night. He wasjust a youth, and he loved music with all his heart, and he longedto be able to express the melody that was in his soul. But hecould not; he had a harp and he often tried to play on it; but hisclumsy fingers only made such discord that his companions laughedat him and mocked him, and called him a madman because he wouldnot give it up, but would rather sit apart by himself, with hisarms about his harp, looking up into the sky, while they gatheredaround their fire and told tales to wile away their long nightvigils as they watched their sheep on the hills. But to him thethoughts that came out of the great silence were far sweeter thantheir mirth; and he never gave up the hope, which sometimes lefthis lips as a prayer, that some day he might be able to expressthose thoughts in music to the tired, weary, forgetful world. Onthe first Christmas night he was out with his fellow shepherds onthe hills. It was chill and dark, and all, except him, were gladto gather around the fire. He sat, as usual, by himself, with hisharp on his knee and a great longing in his heart. And there camea marvellous light in the sky and over the hills, as if thedarkness of the night had suddenly blossomed into a wonderfulmeadow of flowery flame; and all the shepherds saw the angels andheard them sing. And as they sang, the harp that the youngshepherd held began to play softly by itself, and as he listenedto it he realized that it was playing the same music that theangels sang and that all his secret longings and aspirations andstrivings were expressed in it. From that night, whenever he tookthe harp in his hands, it played the same music; and he wanderedall over the world carrying it; wherever the sound of its musicwas heard hate and discord fled away and peace and good-willreigned. No one who heard it could think an evil thought; no onecould feel hopeless or despairing or bitter or angry. When a manhad once heard that music it entered into his soul and heart andlife and became a part of him for ever. Years went by; theshepherd grew old and bent and feeble; but still he roamed overland and sea, that his harp might carry the message of theChristmas night and the angel song to all mankind. At last hisstrength failed him and he fell by the wayside in the darkness;but his harp played as his spirit passed; and it seemed to himthat a Shining One stood by him, with wonderful starry eyes, andsaid to him, 'Lo, the music thy harp has played for so many yearshas been but the echo of the love and sympathy and purity andbeauty in thine own soul; and if at any time in the wanderingsthou hadst opened the door of that soul to evil or envy orselfishness thy harp would have ceased to play. Now thy life isended; but what thou hast given to mankind has no end; and as longas the world lasts, so long will the heavenly music of theChristmas harp ring in the ears of men.' When the sun rose the oldshepherd lay dead by the roadside, with a smile on his face; andin his hands was a harp with all its strings broken."

We left the fir woods as the tale was ended, and on the oppositehill was home. A dim light in the kitchen window betokened thatAunt Janet had no idea of going to bed until all her young frywere safely housed for the night.

"Ma's waiting up for us," said Dan. "I'd laugh if she happened togo to the door just as Felicity and Peter were strutting up. Iguess she'll be cross. It's nearly twelve."

"Christmas will soon be over," said Cecily, with a sigh. "Hasn'tit been a nice one? It's the first we've all spent together. Doyou suppose we'll ever spend another together?"

"If Willy Fraser had had as much spunk as Peter, Miss Cecily Kingmightn't be so low spirited," quoth Dan, significantly.

Cecily tossed her head and disdained reply. There are really someremarks a self-respecting young lady must ignore.

CHAPTER IV

NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS

If we did not have a white Christmas we had a white New Year. Midway between the two came a heavy snowfall. It was winter inour orchard of old delights then,--so truly winter that it washard to believe summer had ever dwelt in it, or that spring wouldever return to it. There were no birds to sing the music of themoon; and the path where the apple blossoms had fallen were heapedwith less fragrant drifts. But it was a place of wonder on amoonlight night, when the snowy arcades shone like avenues ofivory and crystal, and the bare trees cast fairy-like traceriesupon them. Over Uncle Stephen's Walk, where the snow had fallensmoothly, a spell of white magic had been woven. Taintless andwonderful it seemed, like a street of pearl in the new Jerusalem.

On New Year's Eve we were all together in Uncle Alec's kitchen,which was tacitly given over to our revels during the winterevenings. The Story Girl and Peter were there, of course, andSara Ray's mother had allowed her to come up on condition that sheshould be home by eight sharp. Cecily was glad to see her, butthe boys never hailed her arrival with over-much delight, because,since the dark began to come down early, Aunt Janet always madeone of us walk down home with her. We hated this, because SaraRay was always so maddeningly self-conscious of having an escort. We knew perfectly well that next day in school she would tell herchums as a "dead" secret that "So-and-So King saw her home" fromthe hill farm the night before. Now, seeing a young lady homefrom choice, and being sent home with her by your aunt or motherare two entirely different things, and we thought Sara Ray oughtto have sense enough to know it.

Outside there was a vivid rose of sunset behind the cold hills offir, and the long reaches of snowy fields glowed fairily pink inthe western light. The drifts along the edges of the meadows anddown the lane looked as if a series of breaking waves had, by thelifting of a magician's wand, been suddenly transformed intomarble, even to their toppling curls of foam.

Slowly the splendour died, giving place to the mystic beauty of awinter twilight when the moon is rising. The hollow sky was a cupof blue. The stars came out over the white glens and the earthwas covered with a kingly carpet for the feet of the young year topress.

"I'm so glad the snow came," said the Story Girl. "If it hadn'tthe New Year would have seemed just as dingy and worn out as theold. There's something very solemn about the idea of a New Year,isn't there? Just think of three hundred and sixty-five wholedays, with not a thing happened in them yet."

"I don't suppose anything very wonderful will happen in them,"said Felix pessimistically. To Felix, just then, life was flat,stale and unprofitable because it was his turn to go home withSara Ray.

"It makes me a little frightened to think of all that may happenin them," said Cecily. "Miss Marwood says it is what we put intoa year, not what we get out of it, that counts at last."

"I'm always glad to see a New Year," said the Story Girl. "I wishwe could do as they do in Norway. The whole family sits up untilmidnight, and then, just as the clock is striking twelve, thefather opens the door and welcomes the New Year in. Isn't it apretty custom?"

"If ma would let us stay up till twelve we might do that too,"said Dan, "but she never will. I call it mean."

"If I ever have children I'll let them stay up to watch the NewYear in," said the Story Girl decidedly.

"So will I," said Peter, "but other nights they'll have to go tobed at seven."

"You ought to be ashamed, speaking of such things," said Felicity,with a scandalized face.

Peter shrank into the background abashed, no doubt believing thathe had broken some Family Guide precept all to pieces.

"We ought to make some New Year resolutions," suggested the StoryGirl. "New Year's Eve is the time to make them."

"I can't think of any resolutions I want to make," said Felicity,who was perfectly satisfied with herself.

"I could suggest a few to you," said Dan sarcastically.

"There are so many I would like to make," said Cecily, "that I'mafraid it wouldn't be any use trying to keep them all."

"Well, let's all make a few, just for the fun of it, and see if wecan keep them," I said. "And let's get paper and ink and writethem out. That will make them seem more solemn and binding."

"And then pin them up on our bedroom walls, where we'll see themevery day," suggested the Story Girl, "and every time we break aresolution we must put a cross opposite it. That will show uswhat progress we are making, as well as make us ashamed if we havetoo many crosses."

"And let's have a Roll of Honour in Our Magazine," suggestedFelix, "and every month we'll publish the names of those who keeptheir resolutions perfect."

"I think it's all nonsense," said Felicity. But she joined ourcircle around the table, though she sat for a long time with ablank sheet before her.

"Let's each make a resolution in turn," I said. "I'll lead off."

And, recalling with shame certain unpleasant differences ofopinion I had lately had with Felicity, I wrote down in my besthand,

"You might make a resolution not to eat poison berries," suggestedFelicity.

"You'd better make one not to nag people everlastingly," retortedDan.

"Oh, don't quarrel the last night of the old year," imploredCecily.

"You might resolve not to quarrel any time," suggested Sara Ray.

"No, sir," said Dan emphatically. "There's no use making aresolution you CAN'T keep. There are people in this family you'vejust GOT to quarrel with if you want to live. But I've thought ofone--I won't do things to spite people."

Felicity--who really was in an unbearable mood that night--laugheddisagreeably; but Cecily gave her a fierce nudge, which probablyrestrained her from speaking.

"I will not eat any apples," wrote Felix.

"What on earth do you want to give up eating apples for?" askedPeter in astonishment.

"Never mind," returned Felix.

"Apples make people fat, you know," said Felicity sweetly.

"It seems a funny kind of resolution," I said doubtfully. "Ithink our resolutions ought to be giving up wrong things or doingright ones."

"You make your resolutions to suit yourself and I'll make mine tosuit myself," said Felix defiantly.

"I shall never get drunk," wrote Peter painstakingly.

"But you never do," said the Story Girl in astonishment.

"Well, it will be all the easier to keep the resolution," arguedPeter.

"That isn't fair," complained Dan. "If we all resolved not to dothe things we never do we'd all be on the Roll of Honour."

"You let Peter alone," said Felicity severely. "It's a very goodresolution and one everybody ought to make."

"I shall not be jealous," wrote the Story Girl.

"But are you?" I asked, surprised.

The Story Girl coloured and nodded. "Of one thing," sheconfessed, "but I'm not going to tell what it is."

"I'm jealous sometimes, too," confessed Sara Ray, "and so my firstresolution will be 'I shall try not to feel jealous when I hearthe other girls in school describing all the sick spells they'vehad.'"

"Goodness, do you want to be sick?" demanded Felix inastonishment.

"It makes a person important," explained Sara Ray.

"I am going to try to improve my mind by reading good books andlistening to older people," wrote Cecily.

"You got that out of the Sunday School paper," cried Felicity.

"It doesn't matter where I got it," said Cecily with dignity. "The main thing is to keep it."

"It's a family failing," flashed Dan, breaking his resolution erethe ink on it was dry.

"There you go," taunted Felicity.

"I'll work all my arithmetic problems without any help," scribbledFelix.

"I wish I could resolve that, too," sighed Sara Ray, "but itwouldn't be any use. I'd never be able to do those compoundmultiplication sums the teacher gives us to do at home every nightif I didn't get Judy Pineau to help me. Judy isn't a good readerand she can't spell AT ALL, but you can't stick her in arithmeticas far as she went herself. I feel sure," concluded poor Sara, ina hopeless tone, "that I'll NEVER be able to understand compoundmultiplication."

"'Multiplication is vexation, Division is as bad, The rule of three perplexes me, And fractions drive me mad,'"

quoted Dan.

"I haven't got as far as fractions yet," sighed Sara, "and I hopeI'll be too big to go to school before I do. I hate arithmetic,but I am PASSIONATELY fond of geography."

"I will not play tit-tat-x on the fly leaves of my hymn book inchurch," wrote Peter.

"Mercy, did you ever do such a thing?" exclaimed Felicity inhorror.

Peter nodded shamefacedly.

"Yes--that Sunday Mr. Bailey preached. He was so long-winded, Igot awful tired, and, anyway, he was talking about things Icouldn't understand, so I played tit-tat-x with one of theMarkdale boys. It was the day I was sitting up in the gallery."

"Well, I hope if you ever do the like again you won't do it in OURpew," said Felicity severely.

"I ain't going to do it at all," said Peter. "I felt sort of meanall the rest of the day."

"I shall try not to be vexed when people interrupt me when I'mtelling stories," wrote the Story Girl. "but it will be hard,"she added with a sigh.

"I never mind being interrupted," said Felicity.

"I shall try to be cheerful and smiling all the time," wroteCecily.

"You are, anyway," said Sara Ray loyally.

"I don't believe we ought to be cheerful ALL the time," said theStory Girl. "The Bible says we ought to weep with those whoweep."

"But maybe it means that we're to weep cheerfully," suggestedCecily.

"Sorter as if you were thinking, 'I'm very sorry for you but I'mmighty glad I'm not in the scrape too,'" said Dan.

"Dan, don't be irreverent," rebuked Felicity.

"I know a story about old Mr. and Mrs. Davidson of Markdale," saidthe Story Girl. "She was always smiling and it used to aggravateher husband, so one day he said very crossly, 'Old lady, what AREyou grinning at?' 'Oh, well, Abiram, everything's so bright andpleasant, I've just got to smile.'

"Not long after there came a time when everything went wrong--thecrop failed and their best cow died, and Mrs. Davidson hadrheumatism; and finally Mr. Davidson fell and broke his leg. Butstill Mrs. Davidson smiled. 'What in the dickens are you grinningabout now, old lady?' he demanded. 'Oh, well, Abiram,' she said,'everything is so dark and unpleasant I've just got to smile.''Well,' said the old man crossly, 'I think you might give yourface a rest sometimes.'"

"I shall not talk gossip," wrote Sara Ray with a satisfied air.

"Oh, don't you think that's a little TOO strict?" asked Cecilyanxiously. "Of course, it's not right to talk MEAN gossip, butthe harmless kind doesn't hurt. If I say to you that EmmyMacPhail is going to get a new fur collar this winter, THAT isharmless gossip, but if I say I don't see how Emmy MacPhail canafford a new fur collar when her father can't pay my father forthe oats he got from him, that would be MEAN gossip. If I wereyou, Sara, I'd put MEAN gossip."

Sara consented to this amendment.

"I will be polite to everybody," was my third resolution, whichpassed without comment.

"Don't disturb me," said the Story Girl dreamily. "I'm justthinking a beautiful thought."

"I've thought of a resolution to make," cried Felicity. "Mr.Marwood said last Sunday we should always try to think beautifulthoughts and then our lives would be very beautiful. So I shallresolve to think a beautiful thought every morning beforebreakfast."

"Can you only manage one a day?" queried Dan.

"And why before breakfast?" I asked.

"Because it's easier to think on an empty stomach," said Peter, inall good faith. But Felicity shot a furious glance at him.

"I selected that time," she explained with dignity, "because whenI'm brushing my hair before my glass in the morning I'll see myresolution and remember it."

"Mr. Marwood meant that ALL our thoughts ought to be beautiful,"said the Story Girl. "If they were, people wouldn't be afraid tosay what they think."

"They oughtn't to be afraid to, anyhow," said Felix stoutly. "I'mgoing to make a resolution to say just what I think always."

"And do you expect to get through the year alive if you do?" askedDan.

"It might be easy enough to say what you think if you could alwaysbe sure just what you DO think," said the Story Girl. "So often Ican't be sure."

"How would you like it if people always said just what they thinkto you?" asked Felicity.

"I'm not very particular what SOME people think of me," rejoinedFelix.

"I notice you don't like to be told by anybody that you're fat,"retorted Felicity.

"Oh, dear me, I do wish you wouldn't all say such sarcastic thingsto each other," said poor Cecily plaintively. "It sounds sohorrid the last night of the old year. Dear knows where we'll allbe this night next year. Peter, it's your turn."

"I will try," wrote Peter, "to say my prayers every night regular,and not twice one night because I don't expect to have time thenext,--like I did the night before the party," he added.

"I s'pose you never said your prayers until we got you to go tochurch," said Felicity--who had had no hand in inducing Peter togo to church, but had stoutly opposed it, as recorded in the firstvolume of our family history.

"I did, too," said Peter. "Aunt Jane taught me to say my prayers. Ma hadn't time, being as father had run away; ma had to wash atnight same as in day-time."

"I shall learn to cook," wrote the Story Girl, frowning.

"You'd better resolve not to make puddings of--" began Felicity,then stopped as suddenly as if she had bitten off the rest of hersentence and swallowed it. Cecily had nudged her, so she hadprobably remembered the Story Girl's threat that she would nevertell another story if she was ever twitted with the pudding shehad made from sawdust. But we all knew what Felicity had startedto say and the Story Girl dealt her a most uncousinly glance.

"I will not cry because mother won't starch my aprons," wrote SaraRay.

"Better resolve not to cry about anything," said Dan kindly.

Sara Ray shook her head forlornly.

"That would be too hard to keep. There are times when I HAVE tocry. It's a relief."

"Not to the folks who have to hear you," muttered Dan aside toCecily.

"Oh, hush," whispered Cecily back. "Don't go and hurt herfeelings the last night of the old year. Is it my turn again?Well, I'll resolve not to worry because my hair is not curly. But, oh, I'll never be able to help wishing it was."

"Why don't you curl it as you used to do, then?" asked Dan.

"You know very well that I've never put my hair up in curl paperssince the time Peter was dying of the measles," said Cecilyreproachfully. "I resolved then I wouldn't because I wasn't sureit was quite right."

"I will keep my finger-nails neat and clean," I wrote. "There,that's four resolutions. I'm not going to make any more. Four'senough."

"I shall always think twice before I speak," wrote Felix.

"That's an awful waste of time," commented Dan, "but I guessyou'll need to if you're always going to say what you think."

"I'm going to stop with three," said Peter.

"I will have all the good times I can," wrote the Story Girl.

"THAT'S what I call sensible," said Dan.

"It's a very easy resolution to keep, anyhow," commented Felix.

"I shall try to like reading the Bible," wrote Sara Ray.

"You ought to like reading the Bible without trying to," exclaimedFelicity.

"If you had to read seven chapters of it every time you werenaughty I don't believe you would like it either," retorted SaraRay with a flash of spirit.

"I shall try to believe only half of what I hear," was Cecily'sconcluding resolution.

"But which half?" scoffed Dan.

"The best half," said sweet Cecily simply.

"I'll try to obey mother ALWAYS," wrote Sara Ray, with atremendous sigh, as if she fully realized the difficulty ofkeeping such a resolution. "And that's all I'm going to make."

"Felicity has only made one," said the Story Girl.

"I think it better to make just one and keep it than make a lotand break them," said Felicity loftily.

She had the last word on the subject, for it was time for Sara Rayto go, and our circle broke up. Sara and Felix departed and wewatched them down the lane in the moonlight--Sara walking demurelyin one runner track, and Felix stalking grimly along in the other. I fear the romantic beauty of that silver shining night wasentirely thrown away on my mischievous brother.

And it was, as I remember it, a most exquisite night--a whitepoem, a frosty, starry lyric of light. It was one of those nightson which one might fall asleep and dream happy dreams of gardensof mirth and song, feeling all the while through one's sleep thesoft splendour and radiance of the white moon-world outside, asone hears soft, far-away music sounding through the thoughts andwords that are born of it.

As a matter of fact, however, Cecily dreamed that night that shesaw three full moons in the sky, and wakened up crying with thehorror of it.

CHAPTER V

THE FIRST NUMBER OF Our Magazine

The first number of Our Magazine was ready on New Year's Day, andwe read it that evening in the kitchen. All our staff had workednobly and we were enormously proud of the result, although Danstill continued to scoff at a paper that wasn't printed. TheStory Girl and I read it turnabout while the others, except Felix,ate apples. It opened with a short

EDITORIAL

With this number Our Magazine makes its first bow to the public. All the editors have done their best and the various departmentsare full of valuable information and amusement. The tastefullydesigned cover is by a famous artist, Mr. Blair Stanley, who sentit to us all the way from Europe at the request of his daughter. Mr. Peter Craig, our enterprising literary editor, contributes atouching love story. (Peter, aside, in a gratified pig's whisper:"I never was called 'Mr.' before.") Miss Felicity King's essays onShakespeare is none the worse for being an old school composition,as it is new to most of our readers. Miss Cecily King contributesa thrilling article of adventure. The various departments areably edited, and we feel that we have reason to be proud of OurMagazine. But we shall not rest on our oars. "Excelsior" shallever be our motto. We trust that each succeeding issue will bebetter than the one that went before. We are well aware of manydefects, but it is easier to see them than to remedy them. Anysuggestion that would tend to the improvement of Our Magazine willbe thankfully received, but we trust that no criticism will bemade that will hurt anyone's feelings. Let us all work togetherin harmony, and strive to make Our Magazine an influence for goodand a source of innocent pleasure, and let us always remember thewords of the poet.

"The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upwards in the night."

(Peter, IMPRESSIVELY:--"I've read many a worse editorial in theEnterprise.")

ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE

Shakespeare's full name was William Shakespeare. He did notalways spell it the same way. He lived in the reign of QueenElizabeth and wrote a great many plays. His plays are written indialogue form. Some people think they were not written byShakespeare but by another man of the same name. I have read someof them because our school teacher says everybody ought to readthem, but I did not care much for them. There are some things inthem I cannot understand. I like the stories of Valeria H.Montague in the Family Guide ever so much better. They are moreexciting and truer to life. Romeo and Juliet was one of the playsI read. It was very sad. Juliet dies and I don't like storieswhere people die. I like it better when they all get marriedespecially to dukes and earls. Shakespeare himself was married toAnne Hatheway. They are both dead now. They have been dead agood while. He was a very famous man.

FELICITY KING.

(PETER, MODESTLY: "I don't know much about Shakespeare myself butI've got a book of his plays that belonged to my Aunt Jane, and Iguess I'll have to tackle him as soon as I finish with theBible.")

THE STORY OF AN ELOPEMENT FROM CHURCH

This is a true story. It happened in Markdale to an uncle of mymothers. He wanted to marry Miss Jemima Parr. Felicity saysJemima is not a romantic name for a heroin of a story but I canthelp it in this case because it is a true story and her name realywas Jemima. My mothers uncle was named Thomas Taylor. He waspoor at that time and so the father of Miss Jemima Parr did notwant him for a soninlaw and told him he was not to come near thehouse or he would set the dog on him. Miss Jemima Parr was verypretty and my mothers uncle Thomas was just crazy about her andshe wanted him too. She cried almost every night after her fatherforbid him to come to the house except the nights she had to sleepor she would have died. And she was so frightened he might try tocome for all and get tore up by the dog and it was a bull-dog toothat would never let go. But mothers uncle Thomas was too cutefor that. He waited till one day there was preaching in theMarkdale church in the middle of the week because it was sacramenttime and Miss Jemima Parr and her family all went because herfather was an elder. My mothers uncle Thomas went too and set inthe pew just behind Miss Jemima Parrs family. When they all bowedtheir heads at prayer time Miss Jemima Parr didnt but set boltuprite and my mothers uncle Thomas bent over and wispered in herear. I dont know what he said so I cant right it but Miss JemimaParr blushed that is turned red and nodded her head. Perhaps somepeople may think that my mothers uncle Thomas shouldent ofwispered at prayer time in church but you must remember that MissJemima Parrs father had thretened to set the dog on him and thatwas hard lines when he was a respektable young man though notrich. Well when they were singing the last sam my mothers uncleThomas got up and went out very quitely and as soon as church wasout Miss Jemima Parr walked out too real quick. Her family neversuspekted anything and they hung round talking to folks andshaking hands while Miss Jemima Parr and my mothers uncle Thomaswere eloping outside. And what do you suppose they eloped in. Why in Miss Jemima Parrs fathers slay. And when he went out theywere gone and his slay was gone also his horse. Of course mymothers uncle Thomas didnt steal the horse. He just borroed itand sent it home the next day. But before Miss Jemima Parrsfather could get another rig to follow them they were so far awayhe couldent catch them before they got married. And they livedhappy together forever afterwards. Mothers uncle Thomas lived tobe a very old man. He died very suddent. He felt quite well whenhe went to sleep and when he woke up he was dead.

PETER CRAIG.

MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE

The editor says we must all write up our most exciting adventurefor Our Magazine. My most exciting adventure happened a year agolast November. I was nearly frightened to death. Dan says hewouldn't of been scared and Felicity says she would of known whatit was but it's easy to talk.

It happened the night I went down to see Kitty Marr. I thoughtwhen I went that Aunt Olivia was visiting there and I could comehome with her. But she wasn't there and I had to come home alone. Kitty came a piece of the way but she wouldn't come any furtherthan Uncle James Frewen's gate. She said it was because it was sowindy she was afraid she would get the tooth-ache and not becauseshe was frightened of the ghost of the dog that haunted the bridgein Uncle James' hollow. I did wish she hadn't said anything aboutthe dog because I mightn't of thought about it if she hadn't. Ihad to go on alone thinking of it. I'd heard the story often butI'd never believed in it. They said the dog used to appear at oneend of the bridge and walk across it with people and vanish whenhe got to the other end. He never tried to bite anyone but onewouldn't want to meet the ghost of a dog even if one didn'tbelieve in him. I knew there was no such thing as ghosts and Ikept saying a paraphrase over to myself and the Golden Text of thenext Sunday School lesson but oh, how my heart beat when I gotnear the hollow! It was so dark. You could just see things dim-like but you couldn't see what they were. When I got to thebridge I walked along sideways with my back to the railing so Icouldn't think the dog was behind me. And then just in the middleof the bridge I met something. It was right before me and it wasbig and black, just about the size of a Newfoundland dog, and Ithought I could see a white nose. And it kept jumping about fromone side of the bridge to the other. Oh, I hope none of myreaders will ever be so frightened as I was then. I was toofrightened to run back because I was afraid it would chase me andI couldn't get past it, it moved so quick, and then it just madeone spring right on me and I felt its claws and I screamed andfell down. It rolled off to one side and laid there quite quietbut I didn't dare move and I don't know what would have become ofme if Amos Cowan hadn't come along that very minute with alantern. And there was me sitting in the middle of the bridge andthat awful thing beside me. And what do you think it was but abig umbrella with a white handle? Amos said it was his umbrellaand it had blown away from him and he had to go back and get thelantern to look for it. I felt like asking him what on earth hewas going about with an umbrella open when it wasent raining. Butthe Cowans do such queer things. You remember the time JerryCowan sold us God's picture. Amos took me right home and I wasthankful for I don't know what would have become of me if hehadn't come along. I couldn't sleep all night and I never want tohave any more adventures like that one.

CECILY KING.

PERSONALS

Mr. Dan King felt somewhat indisposed the day after Christmas--probably as the result of too much mince pie. (DAN, INDIGNANTLY:--"I wasn't. I only et one piece!")

Mr. Peter Craig thinks he saw the Family Ghost on Christmas Eve. But the rest of us think all he saw was the white calf with thered tail. (PETER, MUTTERING SULKILY:--"It's a queer calf thatwould walk up on end and wring its hands.")

Miss Cecily King spent the night of Dec. 20th with Miss KittyMarr. They talked most of the night about new knitted lacepatterns and their beaus and were very sleepy in school next day. (CECILY, SHARPLY:--"We never mentioned such things!")

The King family expect their Aunt Eliza to visit them in January. She is really our great-aunt. We have never seen her but we aretold she is very deaf and does not like children. So Aunt Janetsays we must make ourselves scarece when she comes.

Miss Cecily King has undertaken to fill with names a square of themissionary quilt which the Mission Band is making. You pay fivecents to have your name embroidered in a corner, ten cents to haveit in the centre, and a quarter if you want it left offaltogether. (CECILY, INDIGNANTLY:--"That isn't the way at all.")

(FELIX, SOURLY:--"Sara Ray never got that up. I'll bet it wasDan. He'd better stick to his own department.")

HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT

Mrs. Alexander King killed all her geese the twentieth ofDecember. We all helped pick them. We had one Christmas Day andwill have one every fortnight the rest of the winter.

The bread was sour last week because mother wouldn't take myadvice. I told her it was too warm for it in the corner behindthe stove.

Miss Felicity King invented a new recete for date cookiesrecently, which everybody said were excelent. I am not going topublish it though, because I don't want other people to find itout.

ANXIOUS INQUIRER:--If you want to remove inkstains place the stainover steam and apply salt and lemon juice. If it was Dan who sentthis question in I'd advise him to stop wiping his pen on hisshirt sleeves and then he wouldn't have so many stains.

FELICITY KING.

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT

F-l-x:--Yes, you should offer your arm to a lady when seeing herhome, but don't keep her standing too long at the gate while yousay good night.

(FELIX, ENRAGED:--"I never asked such a question.")

C-c-l-y:--No, it is not polite to use "Holy Moses" or "dodgasted"in ordinary conversation.

(Cecily had gone down cellar to replenish the apple plate, so thispassed without protest.)

S-r-a:--No, it isn't polite to cry all the time. As to whetheryou should ask a young man in, it all depends on whether he wenthome with you of his own accord or was sent by some elderlyrelative.

F-l-t-y:--It does not break any rule of etiquette if you keep abutton off your best young man's coat for a keepsake. But don'ttake more than one or his mother might miss them.

DAN KING.

FASHION NOTES

Knitted mufflers are much more stylish than crocheted ones thiswinter. It is nice to have one the same colour as your cap.

Red mittens with a black diamond pattern on the back are much runafter. Em Frewen's grandma knits hers for her. She can knit thedouble diamond pattern and Em puts on such airs about it, but Ithink the single diamond is in better taste.

The new winter hats at Markdale are very pretty. It is soexciting to pick a hat. Boys can't have that fun. Their hats areso much alike.

CECILY KING.

FUNNY PARAGRAPHS

This is a true joke and really happened.

There was an old local preacher in New Brunswick one time whosename was Samuel Clask. He used to preach and pray and visit thesick just like a regular minister. One day he was visiting aneighbour who was dying and he prayed the Lord to have mercy onhim because he was very poor and had worked so hard all his lifethat he hadn't much time to attend to religion.

"And if you don't believe me, O Lord," Mr. Clask finished up with,"just take a look at his hands."

FELIX KING.

GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU

DAN:--Do porpoises grow on trees or vines?

Ans. Neither. They inhabit the deep sea.

FELIX KING.

(DAN, AGGRIEVED:--"Well, I'd never heard of porpoises and itsounded like something that grew. But you needn't have gone andput it in the paper."

FELIX:--"It isn't any worse than the things you put in about methat I never asked at all."

CECILY, SOOTHINGLY:--"Oh, well, boys, it's all in fun, and I thinkOur Magazine is perfectly elegant."

FELICITY, FAILING TO SEE THE STORY GIRL AND BEVERLEY EXCHANGINGWINKS BEHIND HER BACK:--"It certainly is, though SOME PEOPLE wereso opposed to starting it.")

What harmless, happy fooling it all was! How we laughed as we readand listened and devoured apples! Blow high, blow low, no wind canever quench the ruddy glow of that faraway winter night in ourmemories. And though Our Magazine never made much of a stir inthe world, or was the means of hatching any genius, it continuedto be capital fun for us throughout the year.

CHAPTER VI

GREAT-AUNT ELIZA'S VISIT

It was a diamond winter day in February--clear, cold, hard,brilliant. The sharp blue sky shone, the white fields and hillsglittered, the fringe of icicles around the eaves of Uncle Alec'shouse sparkled. Keen was the frost and crisp the snow over ourworld; and we young fry of the King households were all agog toenjoy life--for was it not Saturday, and were we not left allalone to keep house?

Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia had had their last big "kill" of marketpoultry the day before; and early in the morning all our grown-upsset forth to Charlottetown, to be gone the whole day. They leftus many charges as usual, some of which we remembered and some ofwhich we forgot; but with Felicity in command none of us daredstray far out of line. The Story Girl and Peter came over, ofcourse, and we all agreed that we would haste and get the workdone in the forenoon, that we might have an afternoon ofuninterrupted enjoyment. A taffy-pull after dinner and then ajolly hour of coasting on the hill field before supper were on ourprogramme. But disappointment was our portion. We did manage toget the taffy made but before we could sample the resultsatisfactorily, and just as the girls were finishing with thewashing of the dishes, Felicity glanced out of the window andexclaimed in tones of dismay,

We all looked out to see a tall, gray-haired lady approaching thehouse, looking about her with the slightly puzzled air of astranger. We had been expecting Great-aunt Eliza's advent forsome weeks, for she was visiting relatives in Markdale. We knewshe was liable to pounce down on us any time, being one of thosedelightful folk who like to "surprise" people, but we had neverthought of her coming that particular day. It must be confessedthat we did not look forward to her visit with any pleasure. Noneof us had ever seen her, but we knew she was very deaf, and hadvery decided opinions as to the way in which children shouldbehave.

"Whew!" whistled Dan. "We're in for a jolly afternoon. She'sdeaf as a post and we'll have to split our throats to make herhear at all. I've a notion to skin out."

"Oh, don't talk like that, Dan," said Cecily reproachfully. "She's old and lonely and has had a great deal of trouble. Shehas buried three husbands. We must be kind to her and do the bestwe can to make her visit pleasant."

"She's coming to the back door," said Felicity, with an agitatedglance around the kitchen. "I told you, Dan, that you should haveshovelled the snow away from the front door this morning. Cecily,set those pots in the pantry quick--hide those boots, Felix--shutthe cupboard door, Peter--Sara, straighten up the lounge. She'sawfully particular and ma says her house is always as neat aswax."

To do Felicity justice, while she issued orders to the rest of us,she was flying busily about herself, and it was amazing how muchwas accomplished in the way of putting the kitchen in perfectorder during the two minutes in which Great-aunt Eliza wascrossing the yard.

"Fortunately the sitting-room is tidy and there's plenty in thepantry," said Felicity, who could face anything undauntedly with awell-stocked larder behind her.

Further conversation was cut short by a decided rap at the door. Felicity opened it.

"Why, how do you do, Aunt Eliza?" she said loudly.

A slightly bewildered look appeared on Aunt Eliza's face. Felicity perceived she had not spoken loudly enough.

"How do you do, Aunt Eliza," she repeated at the top of her voice. "Come in--we are glad to see you. We've been looking for you forever so long."

"Oh, that's too bad," shouted poor Felicity, darting an angryglance at the rest of us, as if to demand why we didn't help herout. "Why, we've been thinking you'd stay a week with us anyway. You MUST stay over Sunday."

"I really can't. I have to go to Charlottetown tonight," returnedAunt Eliza.

"Well, you'll take off your things and stay to tea, at least,"urged Felicity, as hospitably as her strained vocal chords wouldadmit.

"Yes, I think I'll do that. I want to get acquainted with my--mynephews and nieces," said Aunt Eliza, with a rather pleasantglance around our group. If I could have associated the thoughtof such a thing with my preconception of Great-aunt Eliza I couldhave sworn there was a twinkle in her eye. But of course it wasimpossible. "Won't you introduce yourselves, please?"

Felicity shouted our names and Great-aunt Eliza shook hands allround. She performed the duty grimly and I concluded I must havebeen mistaken about the twinkle. She was certainly very tall anddignified and imposing--altogether a great-aunt to be respected.

Felicity and Cecily took her to the spare room and then left herin the sitting-room while they returned to the kitchen, to discussthe matter in family conclave.

"Well, and what do you think of dear Aunt Eliza?" asked Dan.

"S-s-s-sh," warned Cecily, with a glance at the half-open hall door.

"Pshaw," scoffed Dan, "she can't hear us. There ought to be a lawagainst anyone being as deaf as that."

"She's not so old-looking as I expected," said Felix. "If herhair wasn't so white she wouldn't look much older than your mother."

"You don't have to be very old to be a great-aunt," said Cecily. "Kitty Marr has a great-aunt who is just the same age as hermother. I expect it was burying so many husbands turned her hairwhite. But Aunt Eliza doesn't look just as I expected she wouldeither."

"She's dressed more stylishly than I expected," said Felicity. "Ithought she'd be real old-fashioned, but her clothes aren't toobad at all."

"She wouldn't be bad-looking if 'tweren't for her nose," saidPeter. "It's too long, and crooked besides."

"The Family Guide says we should be polite to EVERYBODY," saidCecily, with a reproachful look at Dan.

"The worst of it is," said Felicity, looking worried, "that thereisn't a bit of old bread in the house and she can't eat new, I'veheard father say. It gives her indigestion. What will we do?"

"Make a pan of rusks and apologize for having no old bread,"suggested the Story Girl, probably by way of teasing Felicity. The latter, however, took it in all good faith.

"The Family Guide says we should never apologize for things wecan't help. It says it's adding insult to injury to do it. Butyou run over home for a loaf of stale bread, Sara, and it's a goodidea about the rusks. I'll make a panful."

"Let me make them," said the Story Girl, eagerly. "I can makereal good rusks now."

"No, it wouldn't do to trust you," said Felicity mercilessly. "You might make some queer mistake and Aunt Eliza would tell itall over the country. She's a fearful old gossip. I'll make therusks myself. She hates cats, so we mustn't let Paddy be seen. And she's a Methodist, so mind nobody says anything againstMethodists to her."

"Who's going to say anything, anyhow?" asked Peter belligerently.

"I wonder if I might ask her for her name for my quilt square?"speculated Cecily. "I believe I will. She looks so muchfriendlier than I expected. Of course she'll choose the five-centsection. She's an estimable old lady, but very economical."

"Why don't you say she's so mean she'd skin a flea for its hideand tallow?" said Dan. "That's the plain truth."

"Well, I'm going to see about getting tea," said Felicity, "so therest of you will have to entertain her. You better go in and showher the photographs in the album. Dan, you do it."

"Thank you, that's a girl's job," said Dan. "I'd look nicesitting up to Aunt Eliza and yelling out that this was Uncle Jimand 'tother Cousin Sarah's twins, wouldn't I? Cecily or the StoryGirl can do it."

"I don't know all the pictures in your album," said the Story Girlhastily.

"I s'pose I'll have to do it, though I don't like to," sighedCecily. "But we ought to go in. We've left her alone too longnow. She'll think we have no manners."

Accordingly we all filed in rather reluctantly. Great-aunt Elizawas toasting her toes--clad, as we noted, in very smart andshapely shoes--at the stove and looking quite at her ease. Cecily, determined to do her duty even in the face of such fearfulodds as Great-aunt Eliza's deafness, dragged a ponderous, plush-covered album from its corner and proceeded to display and explain